


more than the world can contain

by kathrynjaneways



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathrynjaneways/pseuds/kathrynjaneways
Summary: Things have been going well for Foggy and Matt. They moved in together, the firm is back on its feet, and both of them are happier than ever. Their newfound harmony is partly grounded in an agreement to keep any discussions about Matt's nightly excursions to a need-to-know basis. Which is hard when Matt comes home one morning looking like a complete train wreck.





	more than the world can contain

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings for brief references to domestic violence and drugs (in the context of criminal cases), and brief, non-graphic/detailed references to canon self-destructive/suicidal ideation.

 

Matt had tried to slip into bed as quietly as possible, but Foggy still woke up to the slight spring of the mattress and one of Matt’s feet accidentally brushing against his own. “What time is it?” Foggy mumbled. Matt didn’t respond, and Foggy reluctantly opened his eyes. The room was pitch black (Foggy’s first order of business upon moving in had been to buy blackout curtains to combat the flashing billboard outside), except for the glowing green of the clock on Foggy’s nightstand, which smugly blinked “3:18.” 

“Are you… alright?” Foggy asked, losing steam before he could finish the thought.

Matt breathed heavily and slowly in the dark, as if trying to steady himself. After a few moments, he responded, “I just need some sleep. It’s nothing.” They both laid in near-silence in the dark, only broken by Matt’s breathing and the distant echoes of car horns and sirens. 

“Foggy?” Matt said, his voice tinged with quiet urgency. Foggy’s heart pounded. His internal worry-meter instantly went from ‘concerned’ to ‘utter panic.’

“Yeah?” Foggy answered hoarsely. 

“I love you.” Matt said. Even quietly, breathlessly, in the dark at 3 in the morning on a weeknight, Matt always managed to say “ _ I love you _ ” with such earnestness, even with a bit of nervous vulnerability.  _ Every time _ , it sounded like a revelation, like a confession, like the first time. And  _ that _ melted Foggy’s heart every time, which just seemed unfair to Foggy. 

“I love you too.”

 

* * *

The cat had obviously been out of the bag for a while with the whole “Matt is Daredevil” thing. And Foggy had not only taken  _ that _ like a champ, in his opinion, but the litany of other shit that followed: the fake death thing, the “I’m abandoning my whole life as Matt Murdock to be a broke New York Batman” thing, the “actually, just kidding, I’m back” thing, the “let’s restart the law firm we ruined almost immediately after starting it the first time” thing, etc. And now that things were starting to get back to normal, Matt and Foggy had been doing  _ really good _ , both as Nelson & Murdock, and as Matt and Foggy. The practice was getting clients (60% of them were court appointed cases the public defender couldn’t get rid of fast enough, but still), and Foggy had moved into Matt’s apartment. Foggy had the nightmares about Matt’s death less and less, and while Foggy couldn’t exactly read Matt’s mind or anything, he seemed so much happier these days, so much less on-edge. He laughed and smiled and went to bad romantic comedies with Foggy and Karen, completely unrecognizable from the person he’d been half a year ago. 

It wasn’t that Foggy didn’t know Matt had gone back to doing the Daredevil thing by night, and it wasn’t like Matt was keeping it a secret. Late at night, Foggy would head to bed, and Matt would put on the suit and give Foggy a kiss before heading out. It made Foggy feel like he was living in the weirdest twist on every 60s romantic sitcom, but that was kind of cute in its own way. He knew Matt was out there doing good, and quite frankly, it seemed like every time Matt tried to stop going out there as Daredevil, he just got depressed and took out all his energy on sabotaging his own life. Daredevil was Matt’s  _ thing _ , and as stressful and dangerous as it was, Foggy had come to accept that.  But  _ Jesus Christ _ , there were limits to what Foggy could stand to hear about.

After they’d put Fisk away, Foggy and Matt had promised each other there’d be no more big secrets between them. Foggy knew that ran contrary to everything in Matt’s nature, but Matt had done his level best. At least, when Foggy would ask questions, he would answer. But Foggy had a tendency to ask questions he didn’t actually want to know the answer to. One night a few weeks after they’d moved in together, Foggy heard the door close as Matt returned to the apartment in the early morning, while Foggy was preparing questions for a client interview in the afternoon. Foggy had wandered towards the door to greet him, and heard clattering from the bathroom. He cautiously approached the bathroom door, only to see Matt, perched shirtless on the edge of the bathtub, his left side so bloody that Foggy couldn’t make out where the actual wound was. Matt’s torn black shirt hung over the shower rod, and he was pouring hydrogen peroxide onto a washcloth and pressing it to his side. “It’s not as bad as I’m guessing it looks.” Matt said. “I don’t think it’s deep.”

“What happened?” Foggy demanded. Instinctively, Foggy knelt in front of the bathtub, taking Matt’s steady hand in his own shaking one and gently prying the washcloth from him. He drew a thin stream of warm water from the bathtub’s tap, soaked the cloth in it and rang it out, then wiped slowly at the blood on Matt’s side. Matt was right, it was really just one long, relatively shallow cut, and most of the blood was just where his shirt had presumably smeared it around a bit. Still, Foggy couldn’t stop his now-full-body shaking. He gripped the edge of the bathtub tightly with his free hand.

“You know the high school kid with the racing bike in the building on the corner who’s always almost running someone over?” Matt began, with a gentle evenness that, under the circumstances, made Foggy want to scream. 

“Yeah.” Foggy answered. 

“Well he was riding his bike back to his apartment, I guess, and this group of guys tried to steal his bike.”

“So your friendly neighborhood Daredevil made an appearance.” Foggy tried to sound lighthearted, but fear and impatience burned through his voice like acid. 

“Yes. But there were about six of them, and then the kid tried to throw his bike at them and run, and I guess I moved just a split second too late, because the bike hit me in the shins and then I was on the ground. So the guys … pinned me down, I guess, for a minute, and one of them had a pocket knife, but I…” 

Foggy’s stomach turned, and he stopped listening. The idea of people holding Matt down, knifing him slowly — and seriously,  _ who gave a fuck _ if it was a deep cut or not — made him want to vomit. He had the urge to lock all the doors and never let Matt out of the apartment again. 

_ “Stop!”  _ Foggy yelled suddenly, and sprang up from the ground. His strained breaths melted into hysterical sobs, to his own surprise.  _ “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t…” _

“Foggy, Foggy, I’m fine! Really, I’m fine!” Matt insisted. 

“Matt, listen,” Foggy began, aware that he was descending into a frantic ramble but unable to stop himself, “I won’t ask you to stop being Daredevil. I wouldn’t. And you know I love you, but—” 

“I love you too.” Matt said. Foggy really wished he hadn’t, because it gave Foggy exactly the kind of warm and tender feelings he didn’t need right now. 

“I love you, but  _ I can’t take this! _ ” He threw his hands up in exasperation and stared at the bathroom floor. There was a bright trail of small drops of blood across the floor from when Matt had entered. “You don’t have to hide the Daredevil stuff from me, but I can’t hear about every punch you took or every random bike thief who knifed you on the street corner every night if you’re going to do this shit!” 

“I’m sorry Foggy,” Matt said, obviously bewildered. “I wasn’t trying to stress you out… You asked, I was just trying to answer…”

Foggy sighed. “I know. And I know you’re trying to do this whole ‘no secrets’ thing. But I’m always going to ask if I see you come in looking like you just got your ass beat, and honestly, I really don’t need to know unless you’re like, dying or something. It’s too much.”

“I’m so sorry, Foggy.” Matt repeated. “Yeah, of course. Need to know basis. Got it.” 

Foggy suddenly enveloped Matt in a massive hug. He resumed his crying in full force.

“Foggy,  _ I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, _ I didn’t mean to make you upset. It’s nothing,  _ I’m fine _ , it’s not deep, it’ll heal…” Matt spoke softly as Foggy buried his face in Matt’s shoulder. 

_ “It’s just that you’ve never cared about what happens to you, but I always do!”  _ Foggy exclaimed. The thought had escaped his mouth before he had a chance to process it. They both stood in stunned silence for what seemed like an eternity. Matt stepped back, and Foggy hurriedly took his hands off of him. 

“Oh my god, Matt, I’m so sorry, that was awful, I didn’t mean it. I know you’re trying, you’ve been so much better lately.” 

Matt bit his lip, and started to tear up. “I have an interview at the jail at 8:30, I have to get dressed. I’ll meet you at the office this afternoon.” Matt rushed past Foggy out of the bathroom. Foggy stared at the blood on the floor as he heard the click of the lock in the bedroom.  

Matt had come back to the office from the jail that afternoon with coffees for Karen and Foggy, perfectly cheerful, and there had been no mention of that morning’s conversation in the four months since. Matt hadn’t really come home with more than some bloody knuckles and bruises lately, thank God, but Foggy didn’t ask about them, and Matt didn’t explain. 

* * *

 

Foggy’s alarm went off at 6:30. He groaned, and fumbled around in the dark for the clock’s off switch. His hand swatted at nothing but open air as the alarm continued to screech mercilessly. Finally, Foggy sat up, and turned the lamp on the nightstand on to see what he was doing. Matt was still curled up beside him, with one of his hands clasped tightly over his ear. Foggy switched the alarm off.  “Are you alright?” Foggy asked.

Matt hesitated. “I’m fine.”  Foggy ran his hand slowly up and down Matt’s arm. “Foggy, could you pick out some clothes for me?” Matt mumbled. 

“Yeah, of course.” Foggy answered. He got up and began to rifle through Matt’s half of their closet. Foggy, and sometimes Karen, now, had always gone with Matt to buy his work clothes, and picked out basic suits, ties, and shirts that would look good with anything else he might pull out of his closet. Still, Foggy had some favorites. He grabbed a sleek dark gray suit with a white shirt and emerald green tie. Foggy turned to take the suit back to Matt and heard a crash. Matt was on the ground by the bed, scrambling to put back his nightstand and assistive clock, which lay sideways on the floor. Foggy flung the clothes onto the bed, and ran to Matt’s side. “You okay?” Foggy asked, helping Matt up. Matt seemed uncharacteristically unbalanced, and leaned against Foggy’s shoulder as Foggy helped him back to the bed. 

“I’m fine. Just tripped.” Matt responded. 

“Did Daredevil have to stop someone selling booze to neighborhood kids by drinking their whole stash last night?” Foggy asked, standing Matt’s nightstand back up and replacing the clock. 

Matt laughed. “No. If that happened, I’d call you and Karen, we could share.” 

“ _ Ugh _ , what a gentleman. And they say chivalry is dead.” Foggy picked up the clothes from the end of the bed, and brought them over to Matt. “So we have the interview at the jail with Guadalupe Holloway, then I’m going over to the prosecutor’s office to try to get them to drop the charges for Julie Carr, and you were…”

“Going to work on Taylor Benton’s motion to suppress his police interrogation.” Matt replied.

“Was he the one trying to sell mushroom tea in mason jars?” Foggy called over his shoulder as he headed back to the closet, rifling through his own suits. 

“Well,” Matt began diplomatically, “Who among us has not…”

* * *

 

Matt and Foggy waited at the small metal table in the jail for the guards to go get Mrs. Holloway. Matt cradled his head in his hands, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his mouth. The room was tiny and gray, with plain walls that always seemed to be closing in on you. Well, at least Foggy thought so, anyway. He read back over the discovery notes he’d taken on Mrs. Holloway’s case. Of course, he’d read them about a million times already last night, but he needed a distraction. He couldn’t stop thinking about Matt’s fall when they’d woken up, about the way he’d practically staggered everywhere all morning, relying on his cane and Foggy’s tight grip on his arm for support, about the fact that even now, Matt seemed completely miserable. He wanted to call off the whole interview and ask Matt what the fuck was going on. But Ms. Holloway deserved better than that, obviously. And what good would it do to know the exact details of who’d hit Matt where with what and how bad Matt felt about it if Foggy couldn’t fix it, and couldn’t stop Matt from going out and doing it again tomorrow night? And it’s not like Matt was ever eager to talk about that kind of stuff until Foggy had told him to in the first place. Foggy still wished he’d said it in a better way, but their rule was a good rule. Things were going well. It was a win-win for both of them. But he still felt a pang of guilt and worry as he glanced up from his notes at Matt once again. 

The two of them stood up swiftly as the door opened, and a guard entered with Ms. Holloway. She was a nervous-looking, short woman in her early thirties, with very long, dark hair in a neat plait. Her uniform was clearly made for a taller woman; the extra fabric in the legs bunched around her ankles. Foggy reached out to shake her hand, and she took it lightly.

“Ms. Holloway, I’m Franklin Nelson, and this is my partner, Matthew Murdock.” 

“I spoke with you briefly on the phone, I think.” Matt added.

“Yes.” she responded. She stared at Foggy’s notes on the table. 

Matt cleared his throat. “Please, sit down Ms. Holloway.” Matt and Foggy sat down, but Ms. Holloway remained standing.

She looked at Matt, as if she were sizing him up, and then at Foggy. “Guadalupe.” she said resolutely, and then sat down, back straight, shoulders high. 

“Absolutely.” Matt replied, then smiled. “Matt and Foggy.” he added, gesturing at himself and at Foggy. Guadalupe nodded. 

“Guadalupe nodded.” Foggy explained.

“Great. So Guadalupe, as we discussed, you’re being charged with third degree assault against Robert Holloway in family court.”

“Yes.” 

“And since we talked, Foggy met with the prosecutor in your case to review the evidence against you.”

“Which is, quite frankly, not much.”  Foggy added. 

“Well, like…” Guadalupe let out a dry, bitter laugh, and stared at the ceiling. “There fucking shouldn’t be, because I didn’t do anything. He was the one...” She started to cry, eyes still fixed on the ceiling to avoid looking directly at Foggy and Matt. She wiped her eyes on the long gray sleeves of the undershirt beneath her orange uniform. “I called the police for help, and they didn’t believe me. He told the stupid fucking cop I hit him first, I tried to show the cop the bruises and he...”

“ _ We believe you, Guadalupe. _ ” Matt said softly. “ _ I am so sorry that happened to you. _ ” Matt stuck his arm halfway across the table, and Guadalupe took his hand. Foggy never understood how Matt had such an innate sense of which clients would take his hand and find that comforting, and which ones would just glare with a true ‘ _ what the fuck are you doing here _ ’ expression. Foggy seemed to get that calculation wrong a solid 50% of the time. “That’s why we want to help you. And to do that, we need you to tell us exactly what happened, as well as you can.”

* * *

 

Foggy turned on his blinker, hoping to turn off the street they’d been stuck in gridlock on for the past ten minutes as soon as he got the chance. Matt was in the passenger seat, resting his head on the cool glass of the window. “I could get us lunch somewhere before I drop you off at the office.” Foggy suggested. 

Matt breathed out slowly. “I’m fine. Thanks, Foggy.” 

The blinker carried on its impatient ticking. People on the sidewalk passed them by as the traffic still refused to budge. Foggy had the sudden urge to just ditch the car and head back to the office with Matt on foot. “You sure you don’t want anything? We could go anywhere you want.”

“I just really want some tea back at the office.” Matt said hoarsely. Foggy turned to look at him. He looked pale, clammy, and just… out of it, somehow. 

A strangely comforting thought occurred to Foggy. “You’re not just… sick, are you?” Foggy asked. “Like, normal person sick? I could drop you off at home and run you to the urgent care clinic as soon as I get out of my meeting.” Foggy looked Matt over again, and quickly added. “Or I could cancel the meeting, if you’re feeling really bad, and take you as soon as—”

“I don’t think I’m sick.” Matt interrupted weakly. “And I know you can’t cancel that meeting. So seriously, Foggy, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” Foggy said. Easier said than done, of course, but  _ okay _ . “You were amazing back there, by the way.”

Matt’s mouth curled into the slightest hint of a smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re so good with people. Like really good, like… you’re a really kind person, Matt. I hope you know that. I love you.” 

Traffic suddenly began to move, and a call rang through the car’s bluetooth. “Shit.” Foggy mumbled, fumbling for the gear shift as the name KAREN flashed on the stereo system’s screen, next to big green and red ANSWER or DECLINE bubbles. Foggy hit ANSWER, and put the car in drive. It leapt forward with a graceless jerk, and Foggy could see Matt turn even greener in the passenger’s seat. 

“Foggy?” 

“What’s up Karen? You’re on speaker, Matt’s here.”

“Hi, Karen.” Matt croaked.

“Hey guys. So, the prosecutor on Julie Carr’s case called to confirm your meeting, but there’s kind of a problem.”

“What is it?” Foggy asked. 

“The clerk’s office entered the court appointment information wrong, and Matt, they entered you in the system as Ms. Carr’s attorney instead of Foggy.” 

“ _ What _ ?” Foggy exclaimed. “But I’m her attorney! They faxed the paperwork over last Friday!  _ I  _ sent  _ my _ paperwork back to them on Monday!”

“I know, I saw that.” Karen answered patiently. “I tried to call the clerk’s office, but no one’s answering and their messages are full.” 

“Well, I’ll just talk to the prosecutor’s office, and I can straighten it out with them.” Foggy slammed the brakes as a woman in bright yellow overalls zipped across the road on a bike for some godforsaken reason. The cars in the other lanes did the same, and honked angrily at her. Matt grimaced.

“I tried that. They said their records from the court listed Matt as the attorney, and that the prosecutor wouldn’t discuss her case with anyone else.”

“That’s such bullshit!” Foggy yelled. Traffic stopped again. Foggy smacked the steering wheel, then ran his hands through his hair. “Even if it says that, we’re from the same firm, he should still talk to me.”

“Yeah, the lady I talked to from their office said he’s new there, and he’s a total asshole.” Karen replied sympathetically. 

“Her trial is scheduled for next week!” Foggy could feel himself descending into a bottomless panic spiral. “They’re trying to charge her with second degree murder over a drug case for no reason! She could get  _ life without parole! _ ” Foggy’s heart pounded, and he suddenly felt like there wasn’t enough air in the car. Had his car always been so small, or did it just feel that way now? 

“I could go for you.” Matt suggested. Foggy looked at Matt. He still looked absolutely miserable, but he’d looked rough before the interview earlier too, and still made it through. And Foggy really didn’t have any other options at this point. “Someone should call Ms. Carr and get an okay from her, first, but I could do it.” Matt rubbed Foggy’s shoulder, and Foggy started to catch his breath again. 

“I’d have to teach you like, an ungodly amount of case law in about…” Foggy looked at the clock on the dashboard. “Forty minutes.” 

Matt grinned. “So basically, every morning of law school all over again.”

 

* * *

 

Foggy sat in the gray lobby of the prosecutor’s office. The tiny, dark wood table next to his armless gray chair vibrated ominously, its haphazard stack of of outdated New York Bar Journals threatening to topple over like a Jenga tower as Foggy tapped his feet impatiently on the floor. The room’s dark gray walls were covered in portraits of former District Attorneys dating back to the 1800s, all of whom seemed to be glaring down at Foggy with a real “portrait in a haunted mansion” vibe. The back wall was one big glass window facing out onto the hall, which was also gray, except for an elevator with bright red doors that made Foggy think of  _ The Shining. _ In the front of the lobby, a window was cut into the wall, behind which a young woman with dark curly hair sat chewing bubble gum and typing on an outdated computer. 

“The new office is nice.” Foggy said, mostly because he couldn’t stop thinking about how awful it was and felt compelled to say something about it out loud. 

The woman looked up from her computer, wide brown eyes fixed on Foggy in confusion. “What’d you say?”

“I said the new office is nice.” Foggy repeated.

The woman let out a loud snort-laugh. “Yeah, sure.” She looked Foggy over. “You work with Karen Page, right?”

“Yeah, she used to be our paralegal and now she’s —”

“Ugh, I just  _ love _ her!” The woman exclaimed. She looked Foggy over again, and frowned in obvious disappointment. “Bring her next time.” She ordered, and went back to her typing. 

_ “You know, that’s fair.” _ Foggy mumbled. He clicked the home button on his phone for approximately the billionth time since he’d gotten here. It was 3:55, so Matt should be done soon. In his head, Foggy ran back through the preparation he’d given Matt for this meeting. They’d ducked into a coffee shop nearby, where they’d sat in the corner and gone over (and over, and over…) Ms. Carr’s case and the law governing the issues. It was a complicated case — her brother’s drug dealer threatened him into running errands for him, and then her brother threatened her into driving him to pick up a ridiculous amount of heroin, which was laced with fentanyl, which then killed a couple who bought it, which lead Foggy and Matt’s new overzealous prosecutor friend to slap her with a murder charge. But the fact that Matt had gingerly asked Foggy to run through the facts and the law  _ over and over _ still made Foggy feel a bit uneasy. Not that Matt wasn’t a smart attorney, but if he was sleep deprived or delirious or whatever the hell was going on… Plus, when they’d gotten here, Matt had been practically hanging on for dear life as the woman at the desk took his arm and guided him back through the office to the conference room. The last thing Foggy had seen of him was Matt stumbling slightly, and catching himself by throwing a hand against the wall for support. 

Foggy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Matt was smart. The facts and the law were clearly on their side once you dug down deep enough, a rare blessing in their line of work. And he’d done a great job in the jail interview this morning. Everything was going to be fine. 

Plus, they didn’t have any other options at this point. 

_ Oh god. _ Foggy thought.  _ What if this is a complete clusterfuck? _

At once, Foggy could see Matt, curled up in the bed, cradling his head in his hands in the jail, desperately trying to breathe in the car. Foggy felt furious with himself. How could he have been so stupid? Matt was obviously miserable and fucked up. He shouldn’t have even taken him to work. Matt’s  _ “Seriously, Foggy, don’t worry about it.” _ echoed in his head. ‘ _ Seriously, Foggy, don’t worry about it,’ _ Foggy thought sarcastically. ‘ _ Guess what, Matt, I’m gonna fucking worry about it, and you can’t stop me!’  _ But it wasn’t Matt’s fault, of course. If Foggy had just…

Foggy’s stress spiral was broken as the heavy gray door opened. Matt stepped into the door frame, accompanied by a tall young blond man whose palpable ‘ _ I talk about my frat all the time even though I graduated seven years ago _ ’ vibe somehow spoiled his otherwise handsome appearance. Matt put his hand out, and the blond man shook it. “I — and Foggy, too — we both really appreciate your time. And thank you for doing the right thing here.”

The blond man’s mouth instinctively pulled into a straight line, before he flashed perhaps the least convincing friendly smile in the world. His teeth looked like something out of a Colgate ad, because of course they did. “Well, like you said, it was the right thing to do.”

“Well, Foggy and I both wish you the best of luck in New York.” Matt said hurriedly. He exited the doorway, and quickly headed towards the glass doors, scanning the floor with his cane ahead of him. Foggy took his arm and guided him to the elevator.

“So what happened? Sounds like it went well.” Foggy said, pushing the button for the elevator. 

“He’s dropping all the charges.” Matt answered. He drummed his fingers impatiently against the ominous crimson elevator door frame. 

“Seriously?” Foggy exclaimed. “He didn’t even try to make her plea to possession or distribution?”

“Well, he tried.” The elevator dinged and opened its doors, and Matt practically dragged Foggy inside. 

“You good?” Foggy asked, side-eyeing Matt as he hit the first floor button. The doors closed.

“Yeah, that guy’s just annoying, I wanted to get out of there.” 

“Fair enough.” Foggy allowed. “But seriously, he’s dropping  _ all of the charges? _ ”

“I think he doesn’t want to lose his first case here.” Matt said. He sounded a bit calmer as they reached the ground floor, but he sounded more hoarse than before the meeting. “I mean, I just told him exactly what you told me, which is that he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance and that he’ll look like an ass if he tries to take this to trial.”

They continued out through the lobby, arms locked, and down the sidewalk to Foggy’s car, parked a block down the street. Matt leaned his head on Foggy’s shoulder as they walked. 

“Thank you so much. For doing that for me. You saved my life. You  _ actually literally _ saved my client’s life.” Foggy said softly.

“That was nothing.” Matt said. He tripped slightly, and Foggy instinctively strained to help stand him back up and keep them both from totally wiping out. They arrived at the car.

“Listen, Matt, I’m just gonna take you straight home, okay? You can get some sleep, maybe take some Excedrin or something.” Foggy said, helping Matt into the car. Matt nodded silently, and buckled his seatbelt. 

Foggy walked back to the driver’s side. As he turned the car on, another call came through the car’s bluetooth, once again flashing the name KAREN across the screen. Foggy hit the answer button, and smoothly turned the car onto the street.

“Hey Karen.”

“Hey Foggy, is Matt there?”

“Yup, you’re on speaker.” Foggy answered. “Actually, why didn’t you just call Matt?”

“You answer your phone more, and you’re always together.” Karen replied. 

“What’s going on, Karen?” Matt asked. 

“Mr. Washington just called asking if you’re still holding the ADA workshop at 5 tonight. I told him I hadn’t heard that you weren’t, but he said you usually send out an email reminder the morning of, and he didn’t get anything.” Karen explained. “Not trying to bust your ass here, Matt, just wanted to double check.”

“ _ Shit. _ ” Matt mumbled, burying his face in his hands. “What time is it now?” 

“It’s 4:25.” Foggy and Karen answered simultaneously. Matt propped his arm up against the window, and leaned his head on it wearily. He breathed shallowly, and looked like he was about to burst into tears. 

“It’s too late to cancel!” Matt thought aloud, his voice tinged with panic. “People are already on their way, and I know Ms. Truong hires a babysitter and —” 

“Listen, Matt, it’s gonna be okay.” Foggy laced the fingers of his free hand between Matt’s. “It’s only an hour and a half, and listen, we may not know as much about this stuff as you, but we’ve picked up a lot from you, and we’ll help as much as we can. Right, Karen?”

“Yeah, totally!” Karen answered cheerfully. “So I’ll call Mr. Washington back and tell him it’s a go. You sure you’re up for it, though?”  
“Not really.” Matt admitted. “But it’s happening.”

“I don’t blame you. I saw the video on Twitter this morning, and it was on the news during lunch. Looked like a rough night.”

“ _ Wait, what? _ ” Foggy interrupted. 

“... Well, I’ll see you guys in a few minutes.” Karen said, and hung up. 

Foggy looked over at Matt. He considered asking about what Karen was talking about, but this whole situation was already stressful enough. He didn’t need to make things worse for both of them.

Matt fell asleep as Foggy wound his way through traffic towards the office. Foggy felt guilty when they pulled up to the street in front of their building, and he had to gently shake Matt’s shoulders to wake him up. “Come on, babe.” he said soothingly as Matt begrudgingly began to unbuckle his seatbelt. “You can do this. Karen and I got your back, okay?” Matt nodded. 

* * *

 

Matt started holding the firm’s free weekly ADA self-advocacy workshops two months ago. For as long as Foggy and Matt had their own firm (which, of course, had included a significant hiatus), Matt had been fielding questions from their disabled clients about navigating the process of getting disability accommodations recognized at school and work under the Americans With Disabilities Act, or the ADA. Not that they actually took many disability cases, but disabled clients, and clients with disabled loved ones, tended to ask Matt for guidance anyway. It was understandable; there were very few visible, successful disabled people out there, and even fewer were attorneys. Plus, Matt knew the ADA inside and out from personal experience. Foggy could still remember when Matt came back to their dorm room spitting nails after the school disability resource office told him he couldn’t use an audio recorder during lectures instead of taking pen and paper notes. They’d stayed up all night researching ADA accommodations, and Matt had been back the minute the office opened the next morning for another round. The school eventually caved.

None of them had expected a particularly large turnout for the first session. Karen and Foggy had put up fliers, and Matt had spoken with some of their clients about it, but they mostly figured just a few people from the neighborhood would show up. Instead, about forty people crammed into their little office. Matt expanded his one-session workshop plan to a series of free weekly classes on different aspects of the accommodations process, like how to define a reasonable accommodation, or how to ensure enforcement of an accomodation in the classroom or office. Tonight’s session was on negotiating accommodations in face-to-face meetings.

When Matt and Foggy entered the room, there were already a good 30 people milling around. Karen sat on a conference table which had been pushed up against the wall to make more room, and she was talking to an elderly woman who sat with a cane balanced across her lap. “Hey guys!” Karen called as they approached. “Excuse me a minute, Mrs. Reyes.” Karen hopped off the table, and approached Foggy and Matt. She put her arms around the pair of them, which at first seemed like a hug, but she leaned her head in and whispered conspiratorially, like a football player in a team huddle. “You guys good?” she mumbled, her eyes roaming around the room, taking stock of the significant crowd for their small conference room.

“We’re good.” Foggy answered. “Matt, what can Karen and I do?” 

“I was thinking I would talk for a while, and then we could do simulations where we pair people up and have them take turns practicing making the case for the accommodations they need. Could you guys go around and give people advice and feedback while they’re doing that?” 

“Totally.” Karen nodded. 

“Thank you guys so much.” Matt said. 

“Seriously, dude, this is nothing.” Foggy assured him. Matt leaned against the same table Karen had been sitting on moments ago.

“Oh, let me get your desk chair.” Foggy said quickly, and hurried off towards Matt’s office. Karen grabbed her paper coffee cup from the table, and followed after him. It irritated Foggy slightly that his hurried walk made him look and feel like a bat out of hell, while Karen seemed to keep up with effortless grace. 

“You call your boyfriend  _ ‘dude’ _ ?” Karen took a nonchalant sip of her coffee, but kept her eyes fixed on Foggy in a mix between amusement and judgement.

“I don’t know, it’s been a weird day, Karen.” Foggy answered. They entered Matt’s office, and Karen flipped the light on as Foggy awkwardly pulled the wheeled computer chair out from the desk. 

Karen peeked around the door frame into the conference room across the hallway. “Yeah, what’s going on there, is he okay?” she asked. Foggy looked at Karen for a minute, debating whether or not to say anything. He followed Karen’s gaze across the hallway, but he couldn’t see Matt.

“ _ No, _ I don’t think so, and I’m  _ freaking out _ !” Foggy said in an aggressive whisper.

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t really ask.”

_ “What?” _

Foggy hurriedly explained their fight in the bathroom, their need-to-know-basis rule, and today’s events. Karen cocked her head, raised an eyebrow, and narrowed her eyes at Foggy. “Foggy, as your friend, this is stupid and overly complicated.” She hissed. “Be in each other’s lives or don’t.” She paused. “Actually, do be in each other’s lives, or I won’t have a job.” Foggy stared at her. “I’m kidding!” Karen pointed from the chair to the door. “Okay, enough girl talk, move it Nelson.”

Karen stepped into the hallway as Foggy rolled the chair through the door. “ _ Nelson _ ?” He repeated as he passed by her. “What are you, my gym teacher now?”

* * *

 

Matt said he’d be doing the lecture part of the workshop for the first 40 minutes, give the instructions for the practice portion, and then actually run the practice rounds after a ten minute break in the middle of the session. Foggy slipped out of the session and headed to his office after about ten minutes. Not that he wasn’t interested in Matt’s lecture, although he had already learned most of the information by osmosis from Matt at this point, but he couldn’t focus. He’d been thinking about one thing constantly, one thing really since he’d woken up this morning. 

Foggy closed the door of his office, and sat down at his computer. He searched “Daredevil” under Google News, which somehow felt like the most embarrassing thing he’d ever done. The first result, an article from the local news channel at 6 AM this morning, read “DAREDEVIL STOPS ROBBING OF ELDERLY WOMAN, SMALL CHILD.” Foggy clicked the link, and a video came up. 

“This is an exclusive breaking story here at QNSJ headquarters. This morning, we have  _ INCREDIBLE  _ surveillance video footage of the so-called Devil of Hell’s Kitchen fighting off a group of men who tried to  _ attack _ a  _ grandmother _ who was taking her  _ grandson _ back to her apartment after the woman’s daughter, and the son’s mother, went into labor and she and her husband had to go to the hospital. We have an  _ exclusive _ interview with the attempted robbery victim about what happened, right after  _ this clip _ .”

The video cut from the newsroom to murky footage of an old woman walking down the sidewalk, holding a little boy’s hand, and carrying a large bag in the other. Four men, all of whom looked like somehow worse versions of Eminem, approached them. One of them pulled a gun on the woman, who began to rifle through her purse. A familiar figure from behind the camera into view, grabbing the handgun from Fake Eminem #4 and smacking him in the face with it (Foggy couldn’t stifle an involuntary “ _ DAMN _ ” out loud at this) as Fake Eminiems 1, 2, and 3 all hurled themselves at him. Matt flung the gun somewhere off-camera, and managed to throw the remaining Eminems off of him. He looked like he was yelling something at the woman and the kid, and they ran off in the other direction. The three robbers on the ground all started getting back to their feet as the fourth ran back into the frame from off-camera with some kind of long, skinny piece of what looked like metal, which he immediately smacked Matt in the back of the head with.

Something inside of Foggy went off like a switch, and he began to cry uncontrollably. He drew quick, shallow breaths, unable to get enough air in his lungs. He paused the video, stood up, and circled around the room before sitting back down and hitting play again. 

Matt sank to the ground, apparently unconscious, and the robbers surrounded him. Just seconds later, though he seemed to wake back up. He kicked wildly up at the men as they leaned in over him, his foot connecting with one robber’s face. The man staggered back, knocking into two of the other men, who fell over like something from a bad slapstick comedy. Matt got up slowly, and apparently painfully. The man who had hit Matt with the piece metal was still waving it towards Matt tauntingly, as if he expected Matt to pick up a sword and duel with him. Matt swatted at the air in front of him until his hand made contact with the metal, and he yanked it out of the robber’s hand. Matt took a step back, and swung the piece of metal threateningly through the air in front of him, and then pointed in the direction opposite of the way the woman and child had gone. The robbers ran off, and the clip cut to a shot of a young female anchor interviewing the older woman on the steps outside her small brick apartment. Foggy looked up from the screen, and through the window in his office door, out towards the conference room.

“Mrs. Bernstein, this must’ve been such a terrifying experience for you and your grandson.” the anchor said sympathetically.

“I thought we were going to die.” Mrs. Bernstein answered. She began to cry. A little hand appeared at the bottom of the screen, and Mrs. Bernstein bent down and picked up a little boy. The boy buried his face in his grandmother’s shoulder, hiding from the camera. 

“Is it true that you two were rescued by Daredevil?” 

“Yes.” Foggy turned his attention back to the screen. Mrs. Bernstein was staring directly into the camera. “I know what people say about him, but if it weren’t for him…” Mrs. Bernstein began to cry again. “I might not have gotten to see my granddaughter, and my daughter could’ve been planning a funeral for this baby after having another.” Mrs. Bernstein bounced the little boy gently, and kissed his shoulder.

* * *

 

Foggy opened the conference room door gently, and tried to slip innocuously towards the back of the room. 

Matt was seated at the front of the room. He normally stood, and he normally had a lot more energy during these sessions, but Foggy was surprised by how well he was doing, under the circumstances.

“... because disability accommodations aren’t a favor or a perk, they’re  _ rights _ that you’re entitled to under the law. And that’s what people don’t understand, or don’t respect, when they try to give you a hard time about it. The right to an accomodation is the right to work, to go to school, to be in public. Really, it’s the right to just exist in the world with other people. And honestly, the fact that you have to fight people over that? It sucks. It really, truly sucks. But these laws exist  _ because _ we can’t rely on people to do the right thing because they  _ want _ to, you have to  _ make _ people treat everyone fairly, even if they’d rather not.”

Foggy felt like an emotional dam had burst inside of him. Everything he had been holding on to all day came back in an overwhelming flood; fear, stress, and more than anything else, love. Matt was a good person, an  _ amazing _ person, who had chosen to be a part of Foggy’s life (which, even now, felt like an astonishing stroke of luck). Foggy’s head swam with thoughts of Mrs. Bernstein and her grandson, of Matt holding Guadalupe’s hand in the prison, of how quickly Matt had offered to take the Julie Carr meeting when Foggy needed him, and of Matt now, after everything, sitting here trying to help these people. 

_ God, I’m so stupid, how could I have been so stupid? _ Foggy thought to himself. 

“Okay, so after the break, we’re going to be pairing you up with a partner, and you’re going to practice what you might say to a boss, teacher, supervisor, whoever you need to speak to about your accommodations. My lovely assistants —” Foggy waved, as did Karen, who was seated on the floor next to the elderly woman with the cane. “Karen, Foggy, and I, will be going around offering help and giving advice.”

The group began to disperse for the break, and Foggy made a beeline for Matt. His knees were shaking, and his heart pounded in his chest. “Matt? Can we talk in my office for a minute?”  
“Sure, Foggy.” Matt said. Foggy helped him up from his chair, and they headed back to Foggy’s office. Once Matt was inside, Foggy closed the door. Immediately, Foggy grabbed Matt by his shoulders and kissed him. Matt seemed pleasantly surprised. Foggy finally pulled away, and went to get his computer chair for Matt. Matt, instead, sat in one of the cheap upholstered chairs Foggy had stuck in front of his desk for the occasional in-office client meeting. “I can’t take any more rolling chairs right now.” Matt explained apologetically. 

“Oh, God, yeah, sorry, no problem.” Foggy said. He considered sitting down himself, but he was too worked up to do anything but pace back and forth across the little office. “Matt, I’ve been thinking, I just… I love you so much. Like, a disgusting amount.” 

Matt laughed softly. “I love you too, Foggy.”

Foggy stopped pacing for a minute, once again thrown off his train of thought by a classic Matt Murdock ‘ _ I love you. _ ’

“And I want you to know, I think you’re an amazing and beautiful and compassionate person.” Foggy continued. He could feel himself talking faster and faster as he kept going, but he couldn’t help himself. “And I don’t just mean, like,  _ Matt Murdock, attorney at law. _ Because the stuff you do as Matt Murdock and the stuff you do as Daredevil are just two sides of the same coin. Both of them are your life. And you never tell me you don’t want to hear about my dumb shit, you just step up to the plate.” Foggy finally stopped to take a breath. “I want to be there for you in every part of your life, Matt. Even when it scares the shit out of me. And I’m just sorry I haven’t been there for you lately.” 

Matt seemed stunned. He sat quietly for a moment, and then said, “Foggy, I love you. You don’t have to apologize for anything.” 

“But  _ I do _ , Matt. I asked you to be honest, and then you were, and then I tried to line item veto your life!” Foggy exclaimed.

“Found the political science major.” Matt said, cracking a half smile.

“ _ I’m serious, Matt!” _ Foggy said, becoming agitated. “I love you, and I want to be there for you, and I want you to be open with me, and honestly, I think we should get married!”

_ “What? _ ” Matt’s expression quickly cycled from shock to something warmer and softer. “Are you serious? When did you get that idea?” 

“While I was watching you lecture, just now.” Foggy admitted. “I’m sorry, I don’t even have a ring picked out yet, I was just thinking about you and this day and I just realized that everything I was doing to protect myself wasn’t protecting me from anything, and it was just isolating you, and I just want to be with you,  _ fully _ with you, and —”

Matt grabbed Foggy’s hand as he paced by Matt’s chair. He pulled Foggy’s arm towards him, and then gently pulled on Foggy’s tie. Foggy followed Matt’s lead, and leaned down for a kiss. “Yes.” 

“To getting married, or...”

“To all of it, Foggy.” They kissed again, and Foggy squatted down next to Matt’s chair.

“So can I say now that I watched the video from last night that Karen was talking about and I almost had a heart attack and I need you to tell me  _ what the fuck _ is going on with you?”

A grimace flitted briefly across Matt’s face. He hesitated, then admitted, “I think I have a concussion.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s what I thought. Actually, I’m  _ super extremely sure _ you have a concussion.” Foggy replied. “I texted Karen while you were spreading the good word up there, and she agreed to supervise the rest of the session while I take you to the ER.” Matt groaned, but didn’t protest. 

“So in the interest of this new full disclosure…” Matt began. He ran a hand through his hair and gritted his teeth. “I can’t show my face in that prosecutor’s office again.”

“Why?” Foggy asked suspiciously.

“I got lost trying to find the bathroom and threw up somewhere in there but I don’t know where.” 

“Oh my god.” Foggy said. He put a comforting hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Honey, I am  _ so sorry _ that happened, but is it terrible that I maybe a little bit hope it was in his office?”

“Probably.” Matt smiled.

* * *

 

The streets were much quieter as they drove to the hospital than they had been earlier in the day. Foggy drove in silence; Matt had fallen asleep in the passenger’s seat about five minutes ago. 

“Foggy?” Matt murmured. Foggy jumped.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake.”

Matt continued, obviously exhausted but unfazed by Foggy’s alarm. “It  _ is _ hard for me. To be honest about…”

“I know.” Foggy’s replied softly. 

“I  _ do _ care.” Matt insisted. “I care what happens to me, because it impacts you. And Karen, and our clients, and…”

_ “I know.” _

They drove along in silence through a pair of green lights. 

“I just need you to know that I didn’t…  _ want _ this to happen. There have been times where I… but it hasn’t been like that for a long time, Foggy.” 

“ _ I know. _ ” Foggy looked at Matt. His face flickered in and out of view with the passing light from streetlights and neon signs and other cars outside. 

“I love you, Matt. No matter what.”

“I love you too, Foggy.”

  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is probably obvious, but I am not a doctor or a lawyer, so please don’t take anything here as medical/legal guidance in any way. I am a law student with a background as a legal assistant (not in New York), and I am a physically disabled person who had a long-lasting and intense concussion last year, and, based on the limited information I could find, concussions in blind people and in people with my disability tend to be similarly, unusually intense. So I tried not to pull anything out of thin air, but I was not aiming to 100% accurately depict the events here exactly as they could occur in real life, particularly in terms of criminal law and procedure of this specific jurisdiction.
> 
> Also probably obvious, but for the record, but all of these clients are 100% fictional and any resemblance to any specific person’s case is coincidental.
> 
> also, credit for the title to "John My Beloved" by Sufjan Stevens


End file.
